


My Devotion Shall Be My End

by ADyingFlower



Series: I'm only doing this because I love you [11]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Codependency, Dark Keith (Voltron), Descent into Madness, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hospitalization, Lima Syndrome, Love Confessions, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Obsession, Stockholm Syndrome, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-28 18:00:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20068222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADyingFlower/pseuds/ADyingFlower
Summary: “Keith…” he starts out, voice quivering like a leaf in the wind. His whole body is shaking, hands trembling by his sides as he stares at Keith. “I think…s-something bit me.”The tools clatter to the sand.“Show me.” He orders, sliding to his knees. Lance obliges, shakily raising his left foot.Right there, on his heel, under the faded scar from the old ankle chain, was two puncture wounds. A snake.“Sweetheart, this isreallyimportant,” he says, standing up and grabbing Lance’s shoulders. “Did you hear anything, like a hissing sound or maybe a-a rattle?”Sluggishly, Lance nods, silent tears running down his cheeks.(Keith lets Lance go)





	My Devotion Shall Be My End

**Author's Note:**

> 11/12

He was right. Lance really was beautiful outside in the greenhouse. 

“And this keeps the soil hydrated…” Lance murmurs, crouched down by the bed of soil as he was. Keith’s notebook lies across his knees, tanned fingers rubbing at the ends of the paper in thought. His bare toes wiggle in the leftover soil, Keith’s straw hat almost falling off his head with how much it was titled in front of him in order to protect his face from the desert sun. Even still, he had the beginnings of a sun burn across the bridge of the nose. “Keith! Where does all this water come from, anyway?” 

Keith, from where he’s sitting next to Lance with his legs crossed and his head leaning against his fist, smiles fondly and points to behind the house in the other direction. “I collect rainwater and store it underground. There’s also a well, but that’s miles away so I’d have to take you by car.” 

Lance’s gotten the hang of manipulating him, his lips already falling into a pout and eyes going big in a way that never fails to make Keith bend to his will. Not that’s very resistant to begin with. “Please? I wanna see it.” 

Honestly…“You know I can’t say no to you when you look so sad. But we’re having lunch first,” he pinches Lance’s side, his heart warming at his sweetheart’s laugh. “You haven’t eaten all day.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Lance hops up to his feet, pecking Keith’s cheek in an adoring kiss before rushing back to the house, one hand propped on the rim of his too big hat to stop it from flying away. 

It takes him a moment longer, but he gathers everything he carelessly let spread around them in the garden. They’ve been out here all morning, and the only thing he’s managed to get into Lance since they’ve been up was a bottle of water, and even then, he had to push it up against Lance’s mouth mid-sentence and keep at it until Lance took over. 

When he got up his morning, his heart had sunk at the sight of Lance curled up in bed, back to the room and blanket pulled up over his shoulders. Keith knew Lance struggled with Bad Days even before meeting him, but he still didn’t like seeing it. Hoping to avert the worst of his depression, he has dragged Lance out of bed and out to the greenhouse, hoping to cheer him up. 

It worked. A little too well, to be honest, but it gave something interesting for Lance’s brain to focus on. Maybe on his next visit into town, he should buy some of those brain teaser games. Lance seemed a little bored of reading. He spent most of his days following Keith around and hanging off his shoulders, chatting his ear off as Keith worked around the house on its daily upkeep. Keith's been teaching him how to cook as well, while Lance has been teaching him knitting, though Keith keeps dropping the stitch. He'll figure it out one of these days, he swears. 

He was still ever so quiet, sometimes. Especially during sex, something Keith added to their daily routine. 

Smiling giddily, Keith smooshes his cheeks to try and quell the ecstatic feeling. Lance never initiated anything, but that was okay, Keith didn’t mind being the one to put his hand on Lance’s waist, to be the one to push him down on the bed or kiss up his calf. He could take photos of Lance naked for hours - in fact, he already has, adding them to his private collection under their bed. His sweetheart and blushed such a pretty pink when he asked, but he was natural in front of the camera. 

And guess what? Lance’s thighs _ are _really as soft as they look. 

“You can take a seat inside, y’know.” He calls as he walks up to the house. Lance is just standing at the foot of the stairs, gaze wide and fixed unseeingly on the door. “I left it unlocked.” 

He hasn’t felt a need to lock it, not since that day where Lance let him in. And so far, Lance hasn’t tried to escape, either. They're happy together. Finally happy. 

There’s nothing but silence, only the sound of Lance’s rapid breathing that’s quickly speeding up the longer they wait. 

“Lance?” Keith quirks an eyebrow, still holding his notebook and his gardening tools. “You okay?” 

Finally, that makes Lance reacts. Slowly, ever so slowly, Lance’s head turns to face him, blue eyes huge and _ terrified_. 

“Keith…” he starts out, voice quivering like a leaf in the wind. His whole body is shaking, hands trembling by his sides as he stares at Keith. “I think…s-something bit me.” 

The tools clatter to the sand. 

“Show me.” He orders, sliding to his knees. Lance obliges, shakily raising his left foot.

Right there, on his heel, under the faded scar from the old ankle chain, was two puncture wounds. A snake.

“Sweetheart, this is _ really _ important,” he says, standing up and grabbing Lance’s shoulders. “Did you hear anything, like a hissing sound or maybe a-a rattle?”

Sluggishly, Lance nods, silent tears running down his cheeks. 

“No no, it’s okay, I have antivenom.” He assures, grabbing one of Lance’s arms and pulling it over his shoulders, guiding the both of them up the stairs and into the house despite how his heart threatens to burst out of his chest. “Just sit down, I’ll be right back. Just - just— it’ll be okay, I promise.”

Rushing off to the fridge, he shoved away leftovers and what perishables they have, searching for one of the small bottles he knows they have. His heart is pounding so loud he can’t hear anything over it - stupid, stupid! He should have gave Lance some of his own shoes to wear, instead of being paranoid and having him barefoot. It’s the first thing they teach you in school - don’t walk with no shoes out in the desert. 

And Lance is from Cuba, an island nation without venomous snakes.

Fuck!

There. Clumsily, he grabs the CroFab, slamming the fridge door shut and hurrying back to Lance’s side, who was looking at the far wall with distant eyes on the bed, tears still sliding down his face. 

“You’ll be right as rain soon,” he promises, scanning the back of the bottle for dosage size. “Everything’s going to just fine, I promise.”

Lance looks up at him with wet eyes, but Keith’s too distracted with his own panic to notice. He hands the bottle over to Lance with whispered instructions to open it before bolting into the bathroom. Fishing under his shirt, Keith pulls off the string necklace, along with the line of keys attached to it. Second to left is shoved hurriedly in the bottom bathroom cabinet, immediately yanking out the numerous pill bottles and vials carelessly. 

For a moment, his eyes pass over the flunitrazepam. But it’s only just a moment. 

They don’t have internet out here, so the only thing he can do is what he remembers from his father’s survival training when he was left at the shack for days at a time while his father had to work twelve hour shifts. 

It’s a good thing he has near perfect memory, then. 

Hurrying back to the bedroom, he barely casts Lance a look as he hangs the IV bag up where the collar post used to be, dropping the rest of the items carelessly on the coffee table. 

“Keith… I-I’m -” 

“Save it,” he barks, glaring fiercely at Lance as he pushes the boy down on their bed by his shoulders. “Now give me your arm, you aren’t going to die.” 

Lance watches him for a moment, blue eyes flicking restlessly across his face, looking for something. Keith doesn’t know what. 

He gives his arm. 

Keith doesn’t sigh in relief, but it’s a damn near thing. Darting to the kitchen, he returns with a dish rag he uses to wrap tightly around Lance’s upper arm, tight enough to hurt. He opens up the first of the many bottles he’s going to need, dumping the saline straight into the IV bag. Praying to every god he knows that the CroFab hasn’t dried up, he sighs in relief when Lance hands him the popped open bottle and the liquid sloshes around inside. He dumps it, and it’s twin from inside the fridge, and hopes desperately that Lance doesn’t have an allergic reaction because he doesn’t have enough to dilute it.

“Are you a nurse and you didn’t tell me?” Lance jokes weakly as Keith twists open the chlorhexidine and dumps it messily over Lance’s inner arm, not bothering to wipe it up and letting it soak into the bed sheet. 

“Dad was a firefighter,” Keith says absently as he splashes it over his own hands and the needle, the best he’s going to get. Chlorhexidine might not kill the risk of infection, but it will lower it significantly. He doesn’t even realize that he openly spoke of his father and didn’t feel like crying until he had inserted the catheter, Lance whining through his teeth at the large needle being stabbed in his vein. “Taught me everything he knew before he died.” 

He doesn’t mention he took a refresher course before he sought out Lance at the club, in case he needed to keep Lance under for a long time. But that was only worse, worse case scenario, like the house burning down . 

Keith sits heavily at the end of the bed, removing the dish towel now that it was no longer necessary to make his veins more prominent and using it to tie the IV in place. “You’re gonna be fine, okay?” He says, with another fearful glance at those swollen puncture wounds on his heel. “I promise.” 

Lance swallows. “Hold me?” He asks, voice small. 

Immediately, he toes off his shoes, taking care to avoid the IV drip as he climbs into bed behind Lance, spooning him silently. Lance hums as Keith holds him oh so carefully, relaxing genuinely in his hold as both of them start to calm down. 

Everything’s going to be just fine. Right?

-

Lance isn’t getting better. 

Keith paces across the main room of their home, running his hands through his hair frantically. Lance watches him weakly through drooping eyelids. It’s been an hour, and the swelling has only continued to go up, not down. 

“I don’t know what to do,” he confesses, in complete and utter agony. “Tell me what to do, Lance. What do I need to do to save you?”

Lance just pets his damn cat, who purrs worryingly at him, something purely animalistic sensing that something was amiss with her owner. 

Both of them know what Keith needs to do. But both know Keith won’t do it. 

“This is it, huh.” Lance murmurs, staring up at the IV bag that continues to drip futility. “I’m gonna… Gonna die.” 

Keith tugs until his scalp screams in pain, shaking his head wildly. 

But not even he can deny the truth for too long. 

Wailing, he stumbles to Lance’s side, burying his face in his side. “No no no, please don’t leave me, I’m begging you, please.” 

Lance is dying. He’s dying, because Keith never bothered to buy more antivenom, never bothered to invest in a pair of shoes for him, never bothered to stop himself from falling in love with a high school student with beautiful blue eyes. 

And Keith will be all alone again. Abruptly, he thinks of the drugs under his sink, of flunitrazepam. There’s still time, he doesn’t have to be alone, he can join wherever Lance is going - !

A weight presses down on his head. Keith blinks up at Lance’s hand, unable to understand why Lance runs his fingers through Keith’s hair to comfort him, his _ captor_. After all Keith has done to him. 

“Take care of Blue, for me?” He asks, voice melancholy. “And - and you have to look after yourself too. After all that work put into the greenhouse…It makes me sad to think of it all rotting away.”

Rotting away like James Griffin's body underground two miles west. Rotting away like the muscles in Lance’s left leg, traveling up his circulatory system and into his heart and kidneys. Rotting away like Keith’s heart, as the only fucking thing worth it in the world is going to die soon because of _ one _ mistake. 

One mistake among many. 

Keith should have killed himself before he even met the boy, before he fell in love with him on that day in the elevator. 

_“That, Keith…That doesn’t mean you love me. You’re _ obsessed _ with me.”_

No. 

He never did truly love Lance in the beginning, did he?

Love is selfless, and kind. Love is his father’s face on that front porch, face turned towards the night sky. Love is Lance’s smile when he dances in the rain. Love is everything he's ever craved, but never received. 

He never loved Lance. He was only obsessed with him. 

Lance’s chest spasms under his head, and Keith eyes widen before he darts out of the way, just as Lance leans to the side and pukes up watery stomach bile. His hair is too short, but Keith soothingly brushes it back anyhow, grimacing at how much it reminds him of the days after the flunitrazepam.

“Sorry,” Lance coughs through his gags, smiling thankfully up at Keith when the older man wipes his mouth gently with one of the recently folded shirts on the coffee table. “Don’t know where that came from.” 

A rattlesnake’s bite is where it came from. 

Keith cups Lance’s face, eyes darting all over Lance’s tired expression. Lance smiles weakly, nuzzling into Keith’s hand, openly affectionate with his captor even on death's doorstep. 

Twelve months ago, he never would have thought about it. Wouldn’t have thrown away his future like that, would have probably just moved on to the next obsession after mourning Lance for a couple months, if that.

But now?

He thinks about so many things. Lance cuddled up under his chin during movie nights, laughing hysterically at Blue after Keith bought a laser pointer and the cat got tangled in the blankets, Lance’s head tucked against his shoulder as they slow danced in their home together, his breathy whine of ‘_Keith _’ in his ear when Keith’s hand worked inside his underwear, his loud cheers as Keith races in the desert at dangerous speeds, the first time they kissed under a sea of stars. 

Twelve months is enough. It has to be. 

Closing his eyes, Keith shudders as the ice begins to creeps in his veins, trying to warn him away from his decision. Gently, ever so gently, he kisses Lance’s head mournfully, his eyes stinging as he blinks them open at Lance’s confused expression. 

Because he’s obsessed with Lance, yes. But in these twelve months, Keith fell in love with the boy with ocean eyes, absolutely, devastatingly in love. 

And love is his father’s voice, those desert nights on the front porch looking up at the sky, telling Keith that he let his mother go. 

Breaking their eye contact, Keith disconnects the IV, slowly removing the catheter and wincing along with Lance. Taking Lance’s freshly bleeding arm, he swings it over his shoulder, forcing Lance to jolt up into a half standing position, balancing on his uninjured heel. 

“Hey! What gives?” Lance yelps, the dots not connecting as Keith shoves his feet in his boots, kneeling down in front of Lance. 

“Get on.” He tells Lance, swallowing at Lance’s owlish eyes. But the boy does as he tells him, leaning over his back in a piggy back ride and looping his arms around Keith’s neck. 

“Where are we going?” His love asks innocently, not realizing what’s happening as Keith stumbles out of their house and towards his CRV. 

Keith squeezes the back of Lance’s knees reassuringly. 

“I’m taking you to a hospital.”

-

He practically flies down the desert road, pressing the pedal down as they reach 70, 80 mph. Lance’s sobs turns into a little giggles as they fly over a bump, kicking up a dust cloud of sand and dirt behind them. 

“Why are you doing this?” Lance asks, and even though every cell in Keith’s body is urging him to him to take a glance, to absorb what Lance looks like one last time, he doesn’t dare glance away from the road at such dangerous speeds. 

Keith smiles grimly, holding onto the wheel tightly. “I guess I just love you too much to let you die like this.” 

Lance doesn’t say anything back. Neither does Keith. 

By the time they speed into Phoenix, it’s already been an hour and a half since he was bitten. Lance’s hair is soaked through with sweat, and his breathing comes out in heavy, damp pants, lungs struggling to catch air he so desperately needs. 

The CRV skids to a stop in front of the ER entrance, and Keith wastes no time in running out of his seat and half carrying, half dragging Lance towards the clear doors, tossing his keys wildly towards the valet driver. Lance whines loudly, clasping his hands over his ears as the loud sounds of city traffic and people shouting make themselves known to him for the first time in months. A couple nurses come out to help him, and he regretfully passes Lance over to them on the stretcher, squeezing Lance’s hand as everyone lays him down, shushing his desperate twists to go back into Keith’s arms. 

“He’s been bitten by a rattlesnake, on the left heel.” He manages to gasp out to the nearest nurse, locking eyes with Lance before the guilt forces him to break away. “I gave him two vials of CroFab, but he’s not getting better, it’s been almost two hours - ” 

“Don’t worry sir,” she gently guides him to one of the ER’s waiting seats, steering him away from the people in white coats pushing a frantic Lance away from him, probably the last glimpse he’ll ever get of that boy who made him feel human for these last couple of months. “He’s in the best possible hands.” 

Nodding, he lets himself collapse in the plastic chair, mind off in the clouds. He doesn’t know how much time passes, but eventually he fills in some of the information on a clipboard they hand him. 

Fake name, fake date of birth. Only a mild tree nut allergy, O- blood type. 

His pen pauses on the paper. Why is he even trying to cover this up? The instant Lance is cognizant again, he’ll confess the truth to the doctor, and Keith will be leaving here in handcuffs. 

Distantly, he wonders if he’ll go to prison or a mental facility. Because he’s absolutely insane, thinking he could hold onto a star with just himself and the wilderness of Arizona’s deserts at their backs. 

A nurse comes to take away the clipboard at one point, and he lets her, gaze on his hands. 

Slowly, ice begins to crawl into veins again, freezing everything as it crawls up to his heart. 

_ Lance I’m sorry I’m so sorry I don’t want to be alone again I hate it I hate it I hate myself I just want to be with you but love is letting you go _

“Are you the one who brought Elias Sanchez in?” Someone asks, and he nearly jumps out of his skin. 

The lighting in the ER has changed from high mid morning to afternoon, bordering on evening. Oh. He hasn’t even noticed so much time passing by, so consumed in his own thoughts. The doctor waits patiently in front of him, and Keith blinks, swallowing his spit painfully. 

“Y-yes, I’m his boyfriend.” He stands up, looking at the doctor pleadingly. “Is he okay?”

The doctor nods, and Keith feels his knees shake under the overwhelming relief. “The antivenom is working well, we’ll be keeping him overnight for observation, but there doesn’t seem to be any signs of the venom having reached his organs. You’re very lucky you got him here when you did.”

Keith collapses back in his seat, staring up at the ceiling. Lance is going to be okay. He did it. 

After a moment, he sits back up again. “Can I see him?” 

-

He takes the time he has while Lance is asleep just to watch him. Memorize the way his hand feels in his, the soft flutter of his eyelashes and the way his hair smells. Everything, seared into his memory.

It’s when he’s lost in thought, aimlessly stroking Lance’s knuckles with his thumb, that Lance finally stirs. Keith’s breath catches as he watches the way he slowly wakes, ocean eyes drifting aimlessly around the room before settling on Keith. 

Realization takes longer to set in, but when it does, Keith can only give him a pained smile. 

“You let me go.” Lance whispers.

“I’m _ letting _ you go.” Keith corrects, gently putting Lance’s hand down, forcing those piano fingers to curl up into a fist. “The doctor should be back soon, so I’ll leave. You can have me arrested, take Blue and go back to your everyday life.” 

Swallowing, Keith has to stop for a moment. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse, fingers shaking around the key ring as he pulls it out of his shirt and on the bedside table next to him. “Just know that you’re the only one I’ve ever loved, and I don’t regret any of it.” 

As he stands up, Keith muses that he should get his state of affairs into order. Their - _ his _ house isn’t much, but Lance could probably still sell it to the bank. Help him get his life back together. 

“No…” Lance gasps wetly, but Keith doesn’t turn around to hear his response. It’s already hard enough, every step from his bedside is another chill in his veins. “No...No! Stop! _ Keith_!”

He stops, but doesn’t face him. “...what is it?”

A shuddering breath, and with another pang in his chest he realizes that Lance is _ crying_. “Nooo, don't leave me. Don’t leave me! _ I don’t want to be alone again - _”

Keith wipes at his arm with his forearm, swallows, and steps out. 

There’s a loud ruckus behind him, the sound of an IV stand hitting the floor and a teenage boy falling out of bed. “Keith! _ Keith! _You can’t leave me after everything - I can’t do this, not after what happened, please don’t leave me, please please, everything’s so loud please I promise I’ll be good I won’t mess up this time -” 

A nurses books past him straight into Lance’s room, not seeing Keith’s choked up tears as he walks out of the ER, smacking his hand against the button to open up the automatic doors. All the while listening to Lance’s desperate screams. 

“Sir you have to calm down -”

“_KEITH!” _

He walks away. He lets Lance go. 

-

Sighing, Keith leans his head against the steering wheel. Without even looking, he harshly opens up the center compartment and digs out an item he never dared to even think that he had. Help was always a lot closer than Lance assumed it was. 

A phone. 

It’s so beyond dead that he has to turn the car on and plug it in. Tapping impatiently against the dashboard, he watches the sky for a long moment from where he had hurriedly retrieved his car from valet and parked it across the street at a McDonalds. Distantly (or not so distantly, he’s been thinking about it non-stop), he wonders if Lance calmed down yet. His sweetheart is so sensitive, the change must have upset him. He’ll be okay, though. He’s sensitive, but also strong. He’ll make it through. 

When his phone finally powers on, Keith squints at the bright screen as he clumsily navigates over to his contacts. Which he has three of them. His social worker, the one who gave him the phone and who he cut contact with the day he turned eighteen and inherited his dad’s old home. The attorney legally in charge of his dad’s inheritance. And the dickbag who he did shady deliveries for a while. 

He clicks the attorney. 

**hey. it’s keith kogane. i need you to transfer all my assets to lance mcclain asap. thanks**

Keith pauses, and then texts one more line. 

**including all future deposits, set it up into a bank account for him. **

There. Lance won’t be set for life, but he’ll be the one to get his dad’s inheritance from now on. Not him. 

His next payment is over a week from now. Lance can take the money and do whatever he wants with it. A flight back to Cuba, get himself a new apartment - that is, of course, if his friends don’t simply just accept him right back. They missed him. Mourned him. That’s more than anyone will ever feel for him. 

Another sigh, and he powers the phone back off again and wraps the charger around it before tucking it back away, turning the car off while he's at it. 

What to do now? He doesn’t want to go back to his house, not when he’ll be by himself for the first time in months. He's not sure he could take that much heartache without emptying his shotgun into his skull. Nor does he have anywhere else to go. He could stay here a little longer and get some McDonald’s for lunch, even though he hates that shit (Lance loves it, he knows he does, he made faces so many times watching Lance skip making himself dinner in favor of easy fastfood while studying and he has to stop thinking about his love now while he's still somewhat in control of himself). Or he could go to his dad’s grave, or maybe just see if his attorney is in and hash out all the details to make sure nothing unexpected comes up with his inheritance -

And that’s when the passenger door is ripped open. 

Lance McClain, in all his glory, stands before him. Panting, the beginning of a bruise from multiple needles forming on his inner elbow, and wearing hospital slippers, the teenager climbs into his car and slams the door shut behind him. 

“You asshole.” Lance bites out, grabbing Keith’s collar and pushing him against the window, climbing into his lap angrily. “You fucking asshole!”

Keith blinks, still feeling the instinctive urge to scold Lance for the bad language, but Lance steamrolls right over him. “You left me. _ You_, of all people…” Lance chokes, releasing his collar with one hand to wipe at his eyes. “You were never supposed to just let me go!”

He smiles, helplessly. “What could I do? You were dying.”

Lance looks away, but the grip on his shirt slowly relaxes. “I don’t…I don’t know who I am anymore, without you.” 

Keith’s hands slowly come up, slow enough that Lance can stop him at anytime. But the boy doesn’t, so Keith holds his face, smoothing his thumbs under his eyes. “I don’t either. But you’re a smart boy, you’ll get it.” His entire body _ aches _to kiss him, but he’s not sure where their boundaries are anymore. 

“Call me sweetheart.” 

The request has him swallowing painfully, his eyes fluttering as Lance presses their foreheads together. 

“Sweetheart,” he breathes against Lance’s mouth. “Sweetheart, lovely, beautiful darlin’, I love you more than anything else on this planet. In this whole damn universe.” 

Usually, Lance would just nod, or tell him he knows, anything but a straight answer. But his love only sheds silent tears, and that’s enough for Keith. 

His love may never love him back, but he has this. 

Love is selfless, and kind. Yet he’s selfish enough to want to leave some kind of mark, a deep and aching scar on Lance’s soul. He’ll always remember Keith, some way or another. He won't be forgotten. He won't be abandoned again, no matter what happens, even if it's just in memory. 

“Asshole,” Lance repeats quietly, sniffing. “T-the nurses called me McClain, they found out who I am.” 

Keith nods. He’s not surprised - Lance’s missing person posters were scattered all over town for months. “How did you find me, then?” 

Lance’s face crinkles up as if his soul was tearing itself apart in it's own anguish. “Your stupid fucking red CRV. You’re the only one who owns this kind of car in the entire state, I swear.”

He chuckles, if a bit sadly. “I had it specially painted. You like it?”

“It looks like a goddamn punch buggy, that’s what’s up with it.” Both of them laugh a little bit, faces tilted towards each other. 

Keith’s hand drop to settle on the boy’s hips, pulling him in closer. “Can I kiss you?”

Lance nods, but Keith is already shaking his head. “No, no, tell me. Do you want me to kiss you, or not?”

Just this once, he wants Lance to speak up. To let Keith know where they truly stand. Lance seems to know this, because he pauses for a moment, breath catching in his throat. 

Piano hands curl on his shoulders, sliding up to hold his neck and the back of his head. “Kiss me.” Lance whisper. “Kiss me one last time.”

So he does. Pour every ounce of his devotion into it, his obsession, his longing and his love into it. He’s crying too, he notices dimly when they break for a breath, fingertips soothingly stroking the other boy’s jaw. 

“You can go,” Lance murmurs, almost manically with fever-bright eyes. “Go home, I won’t tell anybody about you, or what happened to James. Please.” 

Keith is already smiling sadly before Lance finishes. “No can do, sweetheart. I think we both know that there’s no running from this.” 

It’s true. His DNA is all over this car, in the security cameras, everything he touched in the hospital, even Lance himself. 

“But - what about the greenhouse? Your house?” Lance throws out, this time more desperate. 

He pats the keyring he can feel under Lance’s shirt. “They’re yours now.” He says, ignoring Lance’s shock to take a glance at the movement near the empty parking lot entrance. 

A nondescript car pulls in behind them, and then another. No lights, but he knows that's just so they don't scare him into doing anything reckless. 

Time’s running out. Crying openly, he pulls Lance against him, burying his face in Lance’s soft curls. “You’ll do just fine.” He whispers urgently, as two officers, a man and a woman, begin to approach the driver’s side. “We’ll keep Griffin a secret between us, forever, okay? Remember that idiot of a boy who worshiped you when you go off to the stars. Remember the me who would do anything for you. I let you go. I’m _ letting _you go.” 

Someone knocks on his window. Lance shakes his head frantically, bitten nails scrambling on the back of Keith's shirt, but Keith only presses another kiss to his forehead, closing his eyes briefly before drawing back and pulling the window down. 

“Keith Kogane?” Ah, they must have ran his license plate numbers before leaving the station. He did wonder why those valet workers were taking so long to get his car out of park, but he had brushed it off as his desperation to get away from Lance’s accusing screams. At his nod, they motion for him to step out of his car. “You’re under arrest for the suspected kidnapping of Lance McClain. Please step out of your vehicle at once.” 

Lance lets out a broken wail. 

Gently, so as to not upset his delicate boy, he pulls Lance’s hands away and opens the car door. When he steps out, he puts his hands on the back of his head, accepting his fate as the officer pats him down. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Lance clumsily climbing out of the driver’s side, one of his hospital slippers falling off as he stares at them with wide eyes. The other officer, the female one, he notes, tries to speak with Lance in soft and comforting tones, but either he doesn’t hear her or doesn’t want to. 

The police officer bends him over the hood of the car, snapping cold handcuffs around his wrists. He reads Keith his Miranda rights as he starts to be led away to the one of the freshly parked cop cars, more and more officers emerging all to stare at the freakshow, even some from the hospital across the street or emerging from the restaurant to watch. 

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can be used against you in the court of law. You have the right to talk to an attorney for advice before we ask you any questions. You have the right to have an attorney with you during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you before any questioning if you wish…”

“Lance.” He calls over the officer’s droning voice, ignoring how both of them stiffen. “Sweetheart.” The male officers picks up the pace. But he’s never had eyes of any of them. Only Lance. Only him. 

He smiles. “I love you.” 

Love is selfless, and kind. 

_ “So this is what you’ve been working on, huh?” _

_ “Dance with me,” _

_ “I’m looking.” _

_ “‘Sa okay. Jus dun do it again, kay? 'm sorry too.” _

_ “You big baby, it’s okay. Shh, it’s okay.” _

_ “I wanna go home,” _

_ “Mmm, Keith? 'm hungry, feed me.” _

_ “I’m sorry. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to, I like you, I promise! I’m sorry!” _

_ “Wanna take me out of here?” _

_ The day they first met, ocean eyes crinkling up into a smile.“Nice weather today, huh?” _

Love is selfless, and kind. 

And Keith is none of those things, but for Lance, he wants to try. He wants to be that person for him. Because that’s what love does - it makes you change. So subtle, so quiet he never even noticed it in the beginning. Never noticed himself changing. He's a sick, sick man, but he wants to be better. For Lance. Always for him. His Sweetheart. 

He wouldn’t trade that feeling for the world. 

Keith turns away, allowing himself to be pushed across the parking lot. 

“I love you!” 

He stops, his head whipping around to stare at Lance with wide eyes. Lance, standing in one shoe, openly crying as he struggles out of the officers hold towards him. “Keith!” He screams yearningly, his other shoe hitting the ground as two other officers try to restrain him. “Keith! I love you!”

“C’mon, get moving.” The officer pushing him mutters, finally opening the backseat of one of the police cars and urging him in. 

“Please don’t leave me! You’re the only thing I have - I’ll die without you, I’ll fucking kill myself if you try to leave - Keith! I love you! He didn’t kidnap me, please, let him go - ”

His head is pushed down until he’s sitting in the backseat, the car door moments away from being shut. Lance is going absolutely wild now, screaming himself into incoherency and flailing his limbs erratically. Someone yells for a sedative, but that only throws Lance further into his panic. He shrieks, clawing at the officers holding him back, the paramedic approaching him, even himself. For those last few seconds, the two of them make eye contact. 

There’s so much more both of them have to say. Even with twelve months, it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough, will it?

And then that moment is gone, as the officer shuts the door right as the paramedic jabs the sedative into Lance’s arm. 

Keith slides his head against the window, watching as Lance sinks to the cement, crying hysterically into his knees as the crowd of people futility try to comfort him. The officer climbs into the driver's seat, and with a low thrum of the engine, they slowly start to pull out of the parking lot. 

His last glimpse of Lance, his last glimpse for a long, long time, is the boy barefoot and crying in the McDonald’s parking lot, reaching out one last time towards the police car pulling Keith away despite the hands pulling him away, before the car finally turns the corner, and they disappear out of sight. 

**Author's Note:**

> Next: Epilogue


End file.
